


Melancholy Monday

by imustbecrazies



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, I Don't Even Know, M/M, caretaker!Harry, minus the whole Harry Styles being my caretaker thing, sickly!Louis, this was my monday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imustbecrazies/pseuds/imustbecrazies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis likes Zayn he really does. Maybe he didn’t at first and maybe he spent the first month Liam had started dating him trying to chase Zayn away (because maybe Louis had the tiniest (read: massive) crush on his roommate) but that was like a year ago.  They’ve made their peace since then. So really Zayn shouldn’t look so genuinely hurt when he says “morning” and Louis promptly vomits in the sink. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Alternatively: Louis gets the stomach flu and Harry takes care of him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melancholy Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this was my day today except my caretaker was my gay best friend (who is not in fact Harry Styles) and he didn't have to clean up any vomit. I did however fall asleep on the bathroom floor because I'm a classy broad. 
> 
> Unbeta'd and not brit picked, apologies!

“It hurts.” Louis whimpers. 

“I know boo.” Harry says, running a massive hand across his forehead and pushing back Louis’s sweaty hair. “Is there anything I can do?” 

Louis’s stomach twists painfully and he barely grunts out, “No” through clenched teeth. And well, _fuck_ being sick. 

***

Louis’s morning starts normally enough. His alarm goes off at fuck all early in the morning like every Monday and like ugh. Louis hates getting up this early but he loves football and part of that is morning practice. He dresses in the dark with his eyes half-closed and it’s not until he steps into the kitchen to grab a water bottle that he notices the unpleasant feeling in his stomach. 

Liam’s in the kitchen already drinking some kind of horrible smelling protein shake and looking far too chipper for 6 am. “Morning Lou!” 

“Mhm.” Louis grunts in response. He gets a whiff of Liam’s drink and gags. “Fuck.” He hisses and clutches his stomach.

“You okay?” 

“Yea, yea.” Louis bats away Liam’s concerned hand. “Just a bit nauseous.” 

Liam frowns. “Maybe you shouldn’t go to practice today.” 

But of course Louis does and every time he breaks into a sprint his gut twists like he’s been punched and he fights back bile rising in his throat. It doesn’t bode well for the rest of his day.

He’s got classes though. More specifically he’s got a chemistry quiz and while it’s probably his least favorite class (exactly why he needs chemistry to become a drama teacher he’ll never understand), he still needs to pass. So he showers and dresses (sweats count as clothes right?) before hauling himself to the kitchen for some much needed tea. Zayn emerges from Liam’s room looking exhausted and thoroughly fucked just as Louis’s putting on the kettle. 

Louis likes Zayn he really does. Maybe he didn’t at first and maybe he spent the first month Liam had started dating him trying to chase Zayn away (because maybe Louis had the tiniest (read: massive) crush on his roommate) but that was like a year ago. They’ve made their peace since then. So really Zayn shouldn’t look so genuinely hurt when he says “morning” and Louis promptly vomits in the sink. It’s just… Zayn smells like smoke and sweat and day old _come_. Louis’s frail stomach can’t handle it. 

“Jesus Lou! Are you fucking okay?” 

Louis rolls his eyes and wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Peachy.” His mouth tastes foul and his tongue’s fuzzy. All he wants to do is brush his teeth and crawl into bed and then preferably die. His stomach churns and chills break out along his arms. He practically runs to the bathroom, not keen on puking in front of company again. Sometime between emptying his stomach for the second time and gargling a mouthful of Listerine he decides going to class is probably not an option. Fuck chemistry. 

Zayn’s gone by the time Louis surfaces. With the apartment empty Louis crashes on the couch and moans dismally, feeling very feeble and alone. He flips on the television and settles on some kind of Molly Ringwald marathon. He tries to sleep but the pain in his stomach steadily increases until it’s no longer the mildly discomforting nausea of the morning but a sharp, twisting pain that comes in waves of agony that leave Louis trembling and sweating. 

He gets a text from Niall asking where he is and barely finds the energy to text a simple “sick :(“ in response. His phone goes off again but Louis doesn’t bother checking it. His stomach’s clenching and turning; he barely makes it to the toilet before he’s spewing the contents of his stomach, which at this point are pretty much bile and the bit of water he drank earlier. He dry heaves again and lets out a pathetic sob. He can’t help it. Tears prickle the corners of his eyes as he fights against another painful stab in his gut. 

The last thing he remembers is thinking how nice and cool the tile floor is and how very tired he is.

***

“Oh Louis.” Big hands are wrapping around Louis’s biceps and hauling him into a seated position. Louis groans in pure anguish and opens his eyes. There’s a disorienting moment where he doesn’t know where he is or who’s holding him up. It’s short lived because it quickly comes back to him as he’s violently ill on the bathroom floor. “Shhhhh,” Harry coos as he rubs comforting circles on Louis’s back, “You’re alright.” 

He realizes he’s crying but doesn’t have the ability to turn off the water works. And he really, really wants to because it’s utterly humiliating for Harry to see him like this. Beautiful, sweet, funny Harry who Louis’s been pining after since Zayn introduced them months ago. The same Harry who calls him “boo” and cuddles up to Louis like some kind of incredibly clingy cat but laughed off Louis’s dinner invitation like he didn’t understand the concept. Please forgive Louis if he’s not terribly pleased to be sobbing uncontrollably on the bathroom floor, covered in his own vomit while Harry whispers soothingly into his hair. 

Eventually his cries himself dry. He’s so tired his eyes are barely open but before he can fall asleep on the bathroom floor (again) Harry’s tugging off his shirt. “Come on Lou, let’s get you a clean shirt and put you to bed.” Harry pretty much carries Louis to his room which would be hot if Louis didn’t feel like death warmed up. Harry tucks him into bed before backing out of the room. Louis pouts a bit because what he really wants is for Harry to crawl in beside him but then he distantly hears Harry messing about in the bathroom and feels a rush of fondness for the boy who is obviously cleaning up the mess Louis made on the floor.

Louis goes in and out of sleep for the next few hours. The first time he wakes Harry’s there, forcing him to drink some water and running a cool cloth against his head. Actually Harry’s there each time he wakes, with sweet words and smiles and hands that knead Louis’s tired flesh. Louis vaguely wonders if Harry’s missing work or school but doesn’t have the energy to feel guilty. He needs Harry. 

The last time he wakes he feels surprisingly well. He’s still a bit queasy and his body feels like he’s been hit by a truck but he can tell the worst has passed. Harry’s not there but he appears momentarily, carrying a tray with soup, crackers, and two cups of tea. He smiles and sets the tray down in Louis’s lap. “Feeling better?”  
“Much.” He nods. “Thanks.” 

Harry shrugs, “It was nothing. I found the soup in your cupboard but you didn’t have any crackers so I went over to your neighbor, you know the one with all the cats? Batty old woman-”  
“No, thanks for everything. You really didn’t need to be here.” 

Harry flushes all the way down his neck, “I-I wanted to.”

“You wanted to spend your Monday cleaning up vomit?” Louis asks dubiously.

Harry chuckles, “Alright no.” He relents. “But I wanted to be here for you.” He frowns and picks at a bit of invisible lint on the bedspread. It’s one of his nervous habits, born out of a compulsive need to clean. Louis reaches out and stills his hands with his own.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Why didn’t you call me? I had to hear you were sick from Zayn.” He says it like he and Zayn weren’t friends for years before they met Louis. He sounds not angry but hurt and confused.

“I don’t know.” Louis answers honestly. “It’s not really your responsibility.” 

Harry bites his lip, contemplating what Louis said and frowning. “But like. I want it to be.” He continues more forcefully, determined now. “I want to be the person you call when you’re sick. Or sad- or happy. Or anything really. I want to be the first one to know. I want to be the one who takes care of you and makes you soup and shit.” Some of his confidence slips and his voice shakes a little when he asks, “Can I?” 

Louis, still tired and sick, feels better than he has in a long time. “Yes. Definitely. I mean- you kind of already are.” 

“Yea?” Harry asks hopefully.

“Yea.” 

The both grin at each other stupidly for a moment. “I really want to kiss you.” 

“I really want you to.” However when Harry leans in Louis stops him with a hand on his chest. “But I’m disgusting. And probably contagious.” 

“I don’t care.” Harry says quickly, fiercely and rushes back in. 

Louis chuckles, “Down boy! You may not, but I do. I don’t want to kiss you with the taste of vomit lingering on my tongue.” 

“Alright,” Harry concedes. “But I hope you know as soon as you’re feeling up to it I’m going to kiss you until your lips are numb. And then maybe even longer.” 

“Perfect.” Louis grins.

Harry makes good on his promise. It’s not until the next morning after Louis’s showered and brushed his teeth twice. Harry changes his sheets and then pins him to the bed, kissing Louis like he’s trying to consume him. They skip Tuesday’s classes and, even though he’s feeling fine, they let everyone believe it’s because Louis’s still ill. And the next time Louis’s sick (which is thankfully not for another 8 months) he doesn’t even have to call Harry because he’s already there, making Louis’s favorite soup in _their_ apartment like the perfect, little domestic boyfriend that he is.


End file.
